


Not One Iota

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock, Coats, Couch Sex, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Masturbation, Sherlock's Coat, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck with a hard on and not wanting Sherlock to know, John takes refuge in the alley. Of course Sherlock knows anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not One Iota

John leaned against the kitchen counter. This was ridiculous. He was a fully grown adult male; he knew how to handle an erection. But Sherlock had been around all day and if John hurried up stairs then Sherlock would know exactly what he was doing. Same if he suddenly took a shower in the middle of the day.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced into the front room, but Sherlock was still on the couch, fingers steepled. He’d hardly moved and John wanted to scream in frustration. Of course he could just go take care of it anyway, no matter what Sherlock might think, but the fact it was that git on the couch putting him in this condition was nearly too much as it was.

He made a show of opening the fridge and only found the kidneys from two days ago on the shelf. Good, an excuse. “Going to the shop,” he announced, striding out of the kitchen and grabbing his coat. His flatmate, like usual, said nothing.

Outside was chilly, but not nearly cold enough to take the edge off. He should go down to the pub, have a pint, find a girl, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Closing his eyes he turned down an alley and leaned against the bricks. His hand stole down to press his palm against his erection.

Who was madder? His flatmate upstairs or him down here seriously contemplating having a wank in the alley just to get away from him. But upstairs smelled like that peculiar Sherlock scent; expensive hair products and soap and the sting of chemicals and a bite of something else he’d never quite figured out and wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Closing his eyes he could nearly smell Sherlock, glad for the cold of the bricks. There was the sound of traffic, but nothing else, so he started rubbing himself through his jeans.

Sherlock, that impossible man. He thought of Sherlock lying immobile on the couch. His traitorous mind put the image in his mind of that robe coming open a little further, of the t-shirt riding up, his pale belly exposed. John wanted to touch that skin, to see if it was warm or cold, to run his hands up and count the ribs and dance along his nipples with his thumbs.

John moaned slightly, loosening his belt so that he could push a hand inside his jeans, eyes still closed as he imagined tugging at the waistband of those pyjama bottoms. He really had little idea what Sherlock looked like there, though his flatmate had little regard for what anyone else might think of his body. Still, John pictured himself kneeling between those slim thighs, tugging down those pants…

A sudden noise made him freeze with his hand wrapped around his cock. He shivered and opened his eyes and found himself staring up at Sherlock. He regarded John with faint amusement in his eyes. John was well aware he was caught quite literally with his hand in his pants and no other explanation for what he had been doing. Apparently Sherlock had just thrown his coat over his pyjamas and as John’s eyes looked down he could see more of Sherlock then he was used to pressing up against the thin fabric. He licked his lips, unsure if he should try to run. But no, that wasn’t him. John Watson didn’t back down for anyone. Reaching up he grabbed the front of Sherlock’s shirt and yanked him down for a kiss.

Sherlock made a small noise of surprise, but he didn’t protest as John’s tongue pushed past his lips. The coat fluttered around them, nearly hiding John, providing something of a tent around them both. John’s other hand blindly pushed down the pyjama bottoms. Of course Sherlock wasn’t wearing pants. The man gasped slightly as John’s hand wrapped around him, feeling out the length and width. Finally John worried Sherlock’s lower lip with his teeth before pulling back and studying his face.

His eyes had gone dark with lust, cheeks flushed. John wondered if anyone had ever touched Sherlock this way. “We are going back up to the flat,” growled John, tugging up Sherlock’s bottoms. “And I am going to take you, just the way you want me to. The way I want to.”

Sherlock nodded, breathe heaving and lips swollen, the faint hint of John’s teeth marking the bottom one.

John turned and started back for the flat. In a moment Sherlock hurried behind, for once the one following. He did not race up the stairs, simply walked up like it was any other time. He opened the door to the flat and was almost surprised that nothing had changed since he left. But then everything had. Behind him, Sherlock started to remove the coat, but John grabbed the lapels and pulled him close again. “Leave it on.”

He kissed him again, nearly bruising. Sherlock merely moaned and went pliant in the shorter man’s grip. John half-dragged him to the couch, pushing him down. “You have been teasing me for months,” he growled, grabbing a handful of Sherlock’s soft hair and tugging his head back.

“Please, John,” Sherlock moaned as he looked up at him.

“Please what?” John’s voice was a hot, tight whisper.

His small pink tongue darted out, wetting the swollen lips. “I thought…this body just transport…but I need you.”

John felt a thrill that centered itself in his throbbing cock.

“You need me. Well…I can remedy that need.” He let go of Sherlock’s hair and grabbed his knees instead, pulling his bottoms down he settled Sherlock’s legs against his chest, hard cock still encased in the jeans as he pressed against Sherlock’s arse, arms still trapped in the coat as it draped to the floor at John’s feet in a pool of dark fabric.

“Fuck me, John,” whimpered Sherlock in a voice that John had never heard, a voice full of lust and need.

John kept his legs in place with one hand while he got his fly open with the other.  Sherlock pressed a bottle of lube in his hands as he cock sprung free. There wasn’t time to question where it had come from as John slicked his fingers and pressed into Sherlock.

“Oh John,” he gasped as he was slowly opened. John wanted nothing more than to pound him into the couch, but after this long, he could wait a little longer to make sure he didn’t hurt his lover. Sherlock writhed helplessly, kept in place but moaning John’s name as if it was the only word left in his massive vocabulary. How could any man stand under that?

Shifting Sherlock slightly, John lined himself up and started pressing. Another keening moan and Sherlock wrapped his legs around his hips, pulling him deeper.

“God, Sherlock, you’re so tight,” breathed John as he slowly, carefully, moved inside of him.

There was only moans in response, Sherlock’s eyes screwed tightly shut. John leaned forward and cupped his cheek. “Hey, open your eyes,” he said gently.

Slowly Sherlock did and John thought he could drown in the desire he saw writ large there. Blue and green and dark and needing and want.

“You’re beautiful,” said John, meaning it with every fiber of his being. Sherlock smiled, one of the few genuine smiles John had seen. Reaching up a hand he stroked Sherlock’s hair as he started to move again, slowly at first, then faster and faster as he felt the tension building.

To his surprise, Sherlock came suddenly, spattering his t-shirt, came without being touched by John, eyes slamming shut as he moaned and arched back, clenching around his lover. John groaned and thrust twice more before filling Sherlock with a moan of his own. He slipped to his knees, sliding out of Sherlock and ending up on the rough material of the coat. Sherlock blinked owlishly down at him. John leaned forward and kissed his cock, making it twitch, before erupting into giggles.

“John?” Sherlock sounded concerned as he reached down to touch him.

“I’m..I’m fine,” John gasped. He took a breath then leaned over to bite one of Sherlock’s thighs. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

The man gasped and raised up on his elbows. “You are the one that felt the need to go to the alley as opposed to any number of rooms in the flat.”

“I didn’t want you to know. But of course you did.”

Sherlock’s gaze turned sober. “I have known for quite some time.”

“But you didn’t say anything.”

“I did not know if you wished me to.”

John shook his head and leaned up to kiss Sherlock again, “We’ll figure this out, just like we always do.” He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s chest, hands trapped between his back and the coat, but in no hurry to take it off. Sherlock hummed contently and kissed the top of John’s head. John’s eyes drifted closed as he lay between Sherlock’s thighs, half on the couch and half off, not minding the awkward position or the mess one iota.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


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